Sunder
"All it takes is one well placed shot to split apart the Universe." Known Information Sunder was but a mere firearm when it was forged, it's brothers numbered in the thousands and all bore the craftsmanship of the manufactoria of Gunmetal City, and although it was of a slightly superior make it was unnamed and unremarkable. Like other finely crafted pieces it was selected by the armourers of Adeptus Arbites as a candidate for presentation to a particularly gifted marksman amongst their number; every class of Arbitrator Cadets on Scintilla was graded on its student's acumen with firearms and the top sharpshooter was presented with a well-made, but mostly symbolic, stub revolver. In the year 989.M41 this lowly weapon was ceremoniously bestowed upon one of the better, and more ruthless, marksmen the Precinct had seen in years: Lisha Yael'Ma. During her graduation and the announcement of the grades of her class, there was no doubt amongst those present to whom the revolver would be given, however it was not of great interest to Lisha. She was more comfortable with the standard issue autopistol by her side than with the stub weapon, and most winners kept theirs as mantle pieces anyway, so the gun was stored away in its metal box in a private safe house Lisha prepared upon learning of the next phase of her career, and her life: the role of the Mortiurge. It was neither moved nor touched for over 10 years, the fine and robust construction and the wrapping it rested in prevented rust and damage to its mechanisms, until the day a no name ganger opened the door to the basement of an unassuming hab building in the mid hive and pulled a secret panel in the floor that could not have been found unless you knew where it was. He had been ordered/paid to grab the large duffel bag in the hole, and saw it filled with what appeared to be Arbitrator Carapace, a well-crafted autogun and ammunition, along with some Thrones Gelt, a few pieces of miscellaneous equipment, and fake identification for (in his opinion) a pretty bitch of a redhead. Securing the items inside the bag his eyes rested for a moment on the dusty form of a metal box almost hidden at the back of the cubby and on a whim grabbed it out, wiped most of the dust off the lid and dropped it into the bag. He hadn’t been told not to touch it, and better safe than sorry, he thought. A few weeks later the bag was placed in front of the cold-eyed redhead after passing through the hands of half a dozen unsavoury characters, and one bumbling Imperial customs officer who couldn’t tell the difference between props and the real deal. Removing from the bag one item at a time Lisha cleaned and checked each piece of gear; plates of carapace; the slides and bolts of the autogun; a few grenades; an old but functional medikit. She lifted a copy of the Tactica Imperialis she had owned during her days in the Schola to see a small, grimy box laying at the bottom. A spark of confusion before she realised what it was and drew the box out from amongst several other pieces of equipment. She opened the metal frame and revealed to the world for the first time in a decade the weapon legends would sing about. Lisha pulled the gun out from its fabric cloth wrap, unsure how it had found its way into her bug-out bag, and checked over its draw, barrel and cylinder, surprised as to how well it had been preserved. A grim smirk broke across her face as she realised that the conspiring of fate had placed Sunder into her hands again. For the first time she wore the gun at her hip, after a few modifications, and marched into battle. To Lisha now, the weapon itself is a sad reminder of her own betrayal; it was given to her by the man who threw her to the wolves, and she wants to look him in the eye when she presses the symbol of what he made her into against his forehead and pulls the trigger.